Great Teacher Le Crueset
by FreedomValentine
Summary: AU story, with RAUL CRUZ AKA RAU LE CRUESET, AS... HEALTH EDUCATION TEACHER. and he's coming back soon as the... french teacher... woot!
1. Health Education

Phase One: Health Education Class

"Welcome to Health Education class. I am Rau Le Crueset, obviously you health teacher. Maybe you'll learn something here, unlike those duds in the emergency room!"

Nicol snickered. Everybody in IKSH (Boarding) knew about the infamous Rau Le Crueset, former Chemistry teacher now turned Health Educator. A prank-turned-nightmare in the lab a few years back landed him in his current position: a silver mask adorning his once flawless skin, covering half of the upper part of his face.

Still, he could afford to be more lenient. Right?

"Zala, give me the description of a third-degree burn!"

Bullshit.

Kira Hibiki, the ever just-in-time Messiah, raised his hand, "The skin is very much damaged, and the victim- "

"Did I ask you, Hibiki!"

"B-but…"

"Shut up and wait for the future supreme ruler of the world to call on you till you offer your pathetic piece of child's play information!"

It wasn't that hard to guess why he wasn't that popular.

"Stupid pompous phantom of the opera wannabe," Yzak muttered under his breath.

"Another word from you and you'll be staring at the principal's wall. I heard they just repainted it. How does pink sound to you, hmmm, Joule?" Rau Le Bastard Crueset smirked at Yzak's shocked face.

"Anyway," he clapped his hands together. "Homework: an essay on the advantages and disadvantages of washing your hands, word limit 2000, by tomorrow."

Rey Za Burrel slopped his head onto the flat smooth table, crying, "Mommy, I wanna quit this class!"

"Okay, curtains, fall! Dismissed! Now scram, my little minions."

The pupils file out of the class slowly, muttering to each other. Yzak yelled out a string of profanities. A long womanly finger popped out the door, and the next minute, he was being dragged to the pink wall at the far end of the corridor.

"Well, that's not so bad. Yzak Joule, staring at pink!" Athrun said.

"I wouldn't be too happy if I were you. Yzak gets pretty weird when he's pissed."

The gang turned to see Lacus and Cagalli, Kira's girlfriend and sister (respectively) standing behind them. Athrun looked like a lobster now, a boiled lobster. Dunno why…

"Hello, Athrun, are you alright, you look flustered." Lacus enquired worriedly.

Athrun blabbered some rubbish and stumbled a few times before running off to the library. Cagalli stared after him, puzzled. Kira and Lacus smiled at each other. "I think we'd better get going. Extra classes. See ya later!"

Cagalli nodded as the couple walked off briskly down the stairs ahead. She turned the other way and walked slowly to the school pools. A minute later, she was in and had already started on her first lap around the semi-Olympic sized body of two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen, completely unaware of the gang of seniors and juniors drooling at the sight from a distance, one holding a camcorder in his hand (some people are just so… sick…) .

"Damn bastard Le Crueset, I'm gonna kill you!" Yzak hissed. He hated that blonde; he hated that bloody blonde opera singer bastard. He hated him for his soppy dramatic uncle voice, his homework and most of all, his punishment methods… "Kisama!" he yelled at the wall.

The door opened, and the deputy principal stepped out. Yzak froze. _And there goes my place in the nationals…_

He blindly stared at the floor, his head still straight and upright. Natarle Badguriel looked at Yzak for a minute, sighed and walked to her office next door, her polished boots reflecting the sunlight sharply. That was the only good thing about this place. Just about, anyway. Ikari Shinji Boarding High School in the whole country that ruled that all teachers had to wear uniforms.

As Yzak randomly began thinking of how cool it would be to wear a Supreme Council uniform that was currently on sale, Principal Murrue Ramius stepped out.

"Say, what the heck is so interesting about… pink to you, young man?"

Yzak stiffened at the sound of an authority's voice.

She put a hand on her hip and looked at him looking at the wall. He didn't dare move his head. Damn opera boy knew his mother too well. "Well? Don't you feel like stabbing the wall? Or killing it, if it was alive? Or killing yourself, or maybe the person who painted it pink!"

"I'm under punishment, Ma'am. From Mr. Le Crueset. I don't know for what."

"That guy gives out punishments now? Hmm… cool… However, since there is no given explanation for this, you're off. Now hurry up and go home. I'll see to it if your teacher says anything about it the next day, alright?"

Yzak nearly sobbed in relief there.

He jerkily gave a stiff bow and turned on his heel the other way. She smiled slightly at him before going back into her office.

Halfway down his flight through the corridor, Yzak turned and gave a grateful look toward the door of his beloved saviour before scramming home. Messing around with Le Crueset was the last thing one wanted to do, and even worse to take off from his punishments. Yzak was a quick learner. Well, he'd learn soon, anyway.


	2. French

**GREAT TEACHER LE CRUESET**

**FRENCH CLASS**

Yzak grumbled internally, shifting in his seat from time to time. You could almost count: two seconds, shift, two seconds, shift, two seconds, shift, two seconds, shift, two seconds, sh…

'_What the hell is up with that opera freak!'_ he thought to himself. It was almost two, class was supposed to start at a quarter to two, and dismissal was still about an hour and a half away. Very frustrating, indeed.

And just for fun, we'll just add in the five fan girls and gang of gay fan boys scattered around the room and huddled together (not necessarily in reverse respect) eyeing him and whispering to themselves or looking at him like he's a super hot chick, or just admiring his pretty-boy looks.

Trust his girlfriend (yes, he's got a woman) AND his godsister to run off to Latin or whatever and leave him to the whim of his mother, who is in fact a very nice lady unless you cross her, because of which he was beginning to get suicidal.

"Mon Cherie… Mon ami… mon ami cherieeeeeeee!"

A single tiny tear fell from the electric cold eyes of the straight Yzak Joule.

"Bonjour! Mon Cherie!"

A number of the straight girls sighed like the blind bats they were. Yzak rolled his eyes considerately in reply. His mind was already drifting off…

A bang brought him back down, face to face ten seconds into his dirty little fantasy (all boys are horny, didn't you know?), staring deep into the cheek of his French teacher Mister, sorry, Monsieur Raul Cruz, who was currently adjusting his fringe and staring coldly at him out of the corner of his… ah… what IS his eye colour?

Anyway!

"So… Monsieur Jhoule! Did you doo ze homework?"

"Yes, I did, actually. It's been decomposing on your table for the last 45 minutes or so."

"Manners, Jhoule, or you know-"

The bell rang, students ran out for fear of losing their ability of mobility as a result of getting involved in the brawl/fight/catfight (in Raul's case)/duel/whatever between the Silver Duelist and Phantom of The Opera/ Porn Freak (I can explain) that was very much downloading.

Joule/Jhoule got up from his chair very slowly, all the time looking at POTOPF straight in the iris (notice it is the iris, not the pupil, hah), dragging the chair out, slinging his bag over his shoulder, dragging the chair back in very, VERY slowly, making it produce a sound more painful to the cochlea than the one where stupid children don't cut their nails and go to school and try to draw with their nails instead of with conventional chalk on a 50-something year-old chalkboard.

Whew.

Joule/Jhoule proceeded to walk past him extremely composed, and out the door. Raul Cruz watched as his opponent walked out with a clearly evident win. As soon as the last smirk had faded and there was no sign left of any pretty boy with a silver pageboy haircut, he sank to the floor, crying profusely. So weak and hapless was he that he couldn't even control one student by himself.

_I should have been a journalist… I shouldn't have rejected that modeling contract... I shouldn't have joined the teachers' academy… I should have stayed away from Natarle…_

Outside the languages classrooms, in the corridor, a young boy walked smugly towards the lockers. A pathetic howl of some sort sounded from the far end. He didn't want to admit it, that boy, but he had to. Raul Cruz was freaky, and he was darn lucky to get off like that…

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his brain, he broke off into a run like a refugee run away from a concentration camp. If you know what I mean…

_FROM FREEDOMVALENTINE:_

_Less than a year it has indeed been. I really apologise for the lame-ness of it all, this story meaning… I'm really looking out for contributions of ideas. I am hereby expected to get a freaking A1 for Biology and if I don't everybody's going to force me to seppuku. Again, if you know what I mean. So... yeah..._

_By the way, the title is a play on GTO and all, yes._


End file.
